Salvation
by SuckerforASobStory
Summary: Set somewhere after the promised day. Will Roy and Riza ever receive slavation? Please Read and Review. Oneshot!


A/N: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Salvation

The news from the Doctor is unpleasant to say the least. The old man can see the hurt in her eyes, in her fists, and then, just as fast as he saw it, it's gone, now replaced with her façade. She disregards his information, as if each word doesn't cut into her deeper, making engravings on her bones.

He chuckles his way into the house, his keys jingling in the lock as he pulls them, before stopping abruptly, noticing that she is still awake. She sits with her back to him, and while the small lamp is on, the room seems to be shrouded in darkness. He quirks a eyebrow at her and cautiously asks:

"Everything alright, Riza? How was your day off?" At this she abruptly moves from her position on the couch, her back still rigid, still turned to him. Finally, he hears her take a deep breath and her cold eyes come to face his.

"I lost the baby." And with that, she's gone, walking off to the bedroom, as he falls to pieces. He needs to leave this house, he needs to breathe…he's being suffocated. Later he will realize that drinking won't help matters, only make his apparent drowning come quicker. Maybe that's what he always wanted.

* * *

"Whatever it is, Roy boy, you have to go back." A raspy voice says as manicured fingers reach for the raven-haired man's drink.

"I'm too drunk."

"Please." She rolls her eyes. "With this diluted liquor? I'd be surprised if you were even tipsy." She pauses for a second as he cracks a small smile, knowing that he was caught in his lie. "Now get out of my bar." With that he's walking into the street and returning home. He checks his watch and realizes there's no point. He still hasn't completely shed the habit of trying to talk to Maes whenever he had troubles. His lungs feel heavy in his chest. It's a struggle for each breath, and he wishes he could just fall in a ditch, wipe his existence from the Earth. He was followed by death; someone always got hurt.

Steady feet approach the door, and he slides his key inside. It's almost laughable; just a few hours ago he was laughing as he entered his home, and now…he would be surprised if his body ever had the audacity to chuckle again. His despair is suddenly replaced with anger. She was so cold, so uncaring. How could she be…be so tough? Why was he always the weak one? Why should he have to deal with all these feelings while she has none? He stomps off to the bedroom, but stops at the closed door. He wants to bang, burn the door to a crisp, and thrown down the dresser. He wants to flip their bedside table, rampage through the whole house, and yet, as he stands at the door, he is frozen solid.

Tense, angry hands relax, and begin to tremble as he hears a soft sound on the other side of the oak wood. His anger is suddenly reflected to himself. How could he believe that she was emotionless? The door squeaks open, but she doesn't look up from her seated position on the bed; instead, she stays completely still, her hands tight around a book. Tears trickle down her face as overwrought hands squeeze at the book's binding. He's an alchemist, but he can't help but wonder the complexity of a person's believe in religion, in a higher being. Finally she looks to him, her ember eyes glistening with new tears, ready to fall and stain her face.

"Salvation is never coming." She whispers, her eyes suddenly shaking in their sockets. The bible falls to the floorboards with a thump, pages startled. Her Shaking hands find their way through hair the color of wheat, and she's whispering that she's so sorry. Why could she be sorry, it couldn't possibly be her fault.

Her eyes snap towards him as his feet begin to cross the short distance of the room, and she looks broken.

"You…" Her voice cracks "You trusted me." His large hand reaches, but she shrugs him away. "I was supposed to protect him." She reaches for her stomach, but stops herself, realizing there is no longer anyone there. His arms are suddenly wrapped around her, resistant to her struggle. She tries desperately to shake out of his hug, before he body becomes limp. Gut wrenching sobs erupt from deep within the recesses of her body. She doesn't care about being quite, or strong. That doesn't matter anymore. Why could he be so strong, when she was dying? Was she the only one hurting? Why did it seem so easy for him, when her heart was being torn from her chest?

She grabs at his shirt, and pounds at his chest, the tears aggressively forcing themselves from her sockets, before she pushes away from him. She's falling apart, wondering why she is still capable of breathing. He can feel his heart in his chest, but wonders why it's still beating, when he's already died.

Strong arms encompass her body, and suddenly, she feels shaking again, only to realize that she isn't feeling the results of her own sobs. It is his body shaking this time, his tears wet on her shoulder. She realizes she isn't alone, as he weeps for their child. As they sit there, sobbing in each other's arms, it somehow feels…right.

They could share the pain together. It was the least they could do. At least they had each other. That alone was a little salvation.

A/N: What did you think? Taking suggestions! Thanks :)


End file.
